Some Kind of Plan
by wright.or.wrong
Summary: She looks at him, smirking like he's telling a particularly winning joke - but there is nothing funny about it, about anything that's happened in the past three hours. Post Queer Studies and Advanced Waxing.


They practically close down the bar.

It's after one and they're still sitting on the same stools they staked out when they arrived but now, there are only three other people scattered across the room and the bartender is starting to clean up, wiping down the bar top with a damp rag. The music from the overhead speakers even seems to have quieted down, taking a slow, ballad-y turn.

Jeff, still nursing a half full glass of scotch, hasn't made a move to leave, though, so neither has she.

She's had a few more margaritas tonight than she'd normally allow herself, but it's been over the course of a few hours so she isn't really drunk. She feels all warm and drowsy, though, like she's just come from the most luxurious bubble bath and it would be so easy to pillow her head on arms and fall asleep right on the spot. She looks over at Jeff, who's tilting his glass on its edge, watching the amber liquid swirl this way and that, and sighs.

His eyes lazily move to her and he smiles in that soft way that always knocks her off her pins. Tonight, it has her biting her lip and flushing in the dim light of a nearly empty bar like her skin is on fire.

"This was fun," she says – because she needs something to do beyond blushing like a school girl.

Jeff's smile deepens.

"Really? Because we've been sitting here in silence for most of the night. I thought maybe I was boring you."

She huffs out a laugh, pushing at his thigh with her knee.

"No! No. I just meant… I mean, it's nice that we could do that. Just sit here and not make stupid small talk. You know, without it being weird."

He cocks his head, and something about his expression becomes even softer, hazier. She tells herself that it's just a trick of the lighting, of the lateness of the hour and the alcohol buzzing through her system, but she feels something prick at the center of her chest all the same.

"It is nice," he agrees.

She smiles, cutting the straw in her glass through the melting ice at the bottom. Six hours ago, it would have been inconceivable to be sitting her with Jeff like this, all alone and comfortable, and she goes over the events of the evening, trying to connect the dots and figure out how she wound up here, why this whole thing with Chang affected her the way it did. It's not like she cares about acting, it's not like she ever dreamed of a career on the stage, so the off-kilter, uneasy feeling that she's had since she got booted from the play doesn't really make any sense.

Not on the surface anyway.

"You know what the problem is?" she says, and she can feel Jeff's eyes on hers even though she doesn't look up. "I just always thought that I'd do something extraordinary, something that would distinguish me from everyone else. And I'm starting to realize that… I've been at Greendale for six years now and I'm not getting any younger…"

Jeff barks out a laugh.

"You did not just say that to me, Annie," he says, pausing to drain the rest of his scotch. "That's not funny."

She kicks at his shin.

"I'm serious, Jeff. I'm starting to realize it might not happen for me, that maybe my destiny is really just lots and lots of mediocrity… so maybe I needed this whole acting thing to feel like there could still be something more."

He nods slowly, as thoughtful and serious as she's ever seen him.

"Have you considered the possibility that it doesn't matter what you do because it's you doing it? That you're extraordinary so anything you do will be too?"

In that moment, she knows that the strangely pleasant burning in her chest isn't just from the tequila, and she smiles, curling her hand around his bicep and leaning her cheek against his shoulder. He is comfortingly warm, even through the soft fabric of his shirt, and she tucks herself against his side to capture as much of his warmth as she can.

"You have to say that," she whispers. "Because you're my friend."

He grins down into his empty glass.

"Maybe I'm your friend because you're extraordinary. My standards are pretty damn high, you know."

She looks at him, smirking like he's telling a particularly winning joke - but there is nothing funny about it, about anything that's happened in the past three hours.

"I have considered that, actually," she tells him. "What it means that you'd waste your night sitting here with me when I'm in the midst of some existential crisis instead of… and I think I do know what it means."

He exhales heavily, still studying the bar top as he slides his glass around. She closes her eyes and breathes in the soap and water smell of him, trying to figure out a way to make this moment last. She feels Jeff shift against her and then his hand is covering hers on his arm, his fingers sliding between hers, and she has never been so aware of her body before, of every nerve ending and inch of skin.

"You'd do the same for me," he murmurs.

"I would."

She feels his chin press against her temple then, and they're all tangled up in each other, here and everywhere, and she knows there isn't anything else to say right now.

They don't move until the bartender announces last call.


End file.
